Monday, January 27, 2014

Saturday, I received tragic news about a childhood friend. There was a time in the past that we were inseparable. Distanced as we were by miles and time, the news still took my breath away. I was punched in the stomach by the fragility of life. I wondered why I must always wait for a sad surprise to honor that fragility.

In my head I get it that our time here is finite and transitional. Intellectually I understand the importance of being in the moment. Still, living in each individual slice of time and holding it fast to my heart, is an awareness that will quickly slide away with the introduction of a to-do list, or a stack of laundry waiting to be folded. “Real life” shows up and I forget to notice the now and I’m back in the race.

I find myself taking for granted the spaces that make up a day, sometimes even willing the clock to move faster to get me to the finish line. To accept the gift of twenty-four hours I must shift my focus, see each minute as sacred, each action intentional.

I would like to look up and take notice of my time without dissecting it into columns of good and bad; shine an accepting light on all of it. It is easy to hold close the sweetness and joy, listening to my son read, or holding hands with my husband. But just as important, the boring and the monotonous must turn into rituals to be celebrated like candles on a cake. I will brush my hair. I will park the car. I will make coffee. I will open the mail and I will feel gratitude. Each minute is full and valuable. I want to show up for all of that.

Today I will fill myself up with my loved ones. Today I will also show up for sadness and welcome it in. My heart is heavy with the space left behind in the world by my friend but the beauty of grief is that it proves you love something fiercely enough to miss its presence.

32 comments:

Yes, it's hard to remember, hour to hour or day to day or even for many weeks--- and then something will remind us, at dear cost, of the incrediblyprecious opportunity in each minute. Thank you for sharing this, and I'm sorry for your loss.

It seems to me that the older we get, the more losses we experience. And it never gets any easier. I am sorry, Lisa. You give good advice. Try to be here in this moment and love your people with all your heart.

Having experienced the same thing not long ago I feel your pain and heartache. You have my deepest condolences and friendship. I feel great loss at the idea that part of my childhood is now only remembered by me but at the same time I take great comfort in those memories. I hope you can find solace in your memories as well. Peace be with you.